Rishikesh Randoms, Part 2

In Rishikesh, I spend five hours a day involved in yoga-related activities.  In the remaining hours, I am eating, reading, writing or hanging out with my old man friend.

Brij Mehra's dogs, Lilly and Janti, sniffed me out first.  It was my second or third day in town, and I was getting to know the street sellers, Mr. Cow Security and The Palmello Kid.  I had just made my first purchase, and I was sitting on Palmello Kid's spare plastic stool as he meticulously peeled the grapefruity goodness.  We were engaged in one of those heartwarming slightly incomprehensible conversations involving his fifteen words of English, my five words of Hindi, and a lot of head bobbling and hand waving, when India's only two leashed dogs approached me.  On the other end of the leashes was an elderly man with a classic elderly man borderline-grimace.  Despite my first impression of his somewhat miserly-ness, he approached me with the same sort of warm curiosity as the dogs.  Before he told me his own name, he spoke on behalf of the kanines.  Lilly was the name of the mother, and her (shamefully cowardly) son was known as Janti.

I'm not sure if it was the intuition of the dogs or the intuition of Brij, but after only a few minutes of conversing, he invited me to his place for a coffee.  I was still waiting for the palmello to be peeled (it was becoming quite a process, probably part of The Palmello Kid's marketing scheme:  "Check it out, everybody.  White girls buy my palmellos. Don't you want to buy one, too?")  Brij lived only half a block away, so I figured I could sneak away briefly.

In addition to the two loyal dogs, Brij has two lovely domestic workers and an assortment of regular visitors.  And, because he is 78 and because he is Brij, people just do whatever he tells them to do.  When we arrived at his house, he told one of the regular visitors, a sweet young man by the name of Neerij, to set up two chairs for us in the garden and to turn on the kettle.  No sooner were the words uttered than I was sitting in a plastic chair with a cup of instant coffee in my hand.  Little did I know that in that moment I was being christened as another one of his regular visitors who was magically charmed into unquestioningly following his instructions and guidance.

In that brief meeting (I couldn't stay long because of the palmello and my yoga class), he managed to set up one of my first adventures in the area.  His domestic worker, Rajiv, was assigned to take me on a walk up the big hill that creates the backdrop for the neighborhood.  Rajiv's family home is near the top, so I would be able to meet his parents and siblings as well as enjoy the impressive view.  This was not intended to be all trekking and chai drinking fun and games, though.  Brij is an ideas man, and he thought that the family could potentially develop some of their land into a small tourism venture.  I was instructed to go armed with my camera and a set of entrepreneur's eyes.    

After debriefing my sweaty but enjoyable visit to the Rajiv's family home, I was assigned to expand this hilltop hike to the masses.  Brij must have sensed that I have a knack for project management, so with his encouragement, together we concluded that it would be a good idea to organize a group trek for my yoga classmates as an income generating project for Rajiv's family.  Echoing elements of my past lives, I was soon making announcements and posting a sign-up sheet and stressing out about whether or not people would enjoy the trek and if there would be enough food to go around.  

What developed out of these talks about trekking and packed lunches was really comforting companionship.  I began visiting Brij nearly every day, and every day I would give him an update on the number of people signed up for the trek and hash out some of the little details about the plan, such as the best method for transporting a tomato salad.  However, we mostly talked about life -- his past, my future, the personalities of Lilly and Janti, the stories of people we love, the sunny-side of American culture/lifestyle, the rituals of Hinduism, etc.  Often these conversations took place during "happy hour".  Booze is illegal in Rishikesh -- you can't find a drop of it in any restaurant or store.  But, Brij would open a little speak-easy for me most nights after my yoga lecture.  We would each enjoy one whiskey and soda, and I would revel in this single act of yoga defiance due to the influence of my 78 year old friend.

Now that Project Group Trek has passed (with great success, might I add), my visits to Brij continue.  Brij has been one of the greatest gifts to the greatest hits tour.  For me, there is something extremely comforting about regularly spending time in the presence of someone much older and wiser than me.  There is something about our generational gap that makes me more open-minded, accepting, compassionate, and naturally loving.  It's nice knowing there is someone looking forward to my next visit, and it is nice to have a house where I am always welcome. Being in his presence makes me feel nearer to my own family, even those who have long since passed away.  To put it simply, it's really nice to hang out with someone I get along with so well.  

There was certainly some magic involved in meeting Brij and the cultivation of our friendship.  We could maybe chalk it up to the special energy of Rishikesh again. However, what is critical to the existence of this relationship is my presence in one place for longer than the blink of an eye.  The truth is, as much as I may appear to be an adventurous traveller, I'm not all that good at it.  I'm built to foster relationships -- to have a regular check-out lane or corner store, to know the name and a few personal details of my local bartender, to have a favorite corner table at the cutest cafe, to have people to wave to and greet, to have a plastic stool next to The Palmello Kid, and to have a wonderful old man friend whose house I can drop into at any time.     

So, for this reason, I am pretty much certain that I will spend another month in Rishikesh, not leaving until I actually have to get on the plane in Delhi.  Why mess with a good thing?